


verbalize the hurt inside, make me wanna burn alive

by hegoesbynico (choirboyharem)



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Infidelity, M/M, Rough Sex, Trench Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-12 03:59:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19124128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/choirboyharem/pseuds/hegoesbynico
Summary: “Who do I belong to? Who doyoubelong to? You should already know the answer to anything I could possibly ask you. I’m trying to help you, you know. I’m trying to help you think. Think.Think," Blurry hisses, jabbing Tyler in the head with his finger. “You don’t think or you think too much. I’m always somewhere in the silver.Look for me.”





	verbalize the hurt inside, make me wanna burn alive

**Author's Note:**

> this is kind of a weird idea i've been toying with ever since my love for top came back and attacked me in full force this summer. i don't really know. i have a lot of ideas for this specific au, so i might expand on it a lot more in the future. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 
> 
> also, yes, i’m a weak bitch who’s still going to imagine blurry/nico with tyler’s body and features.
> 
> the title is from champagne by k.flay.

“What’s my name?” Blurry asks, clenching his fist around Tyler’s throat. Tyler can feel the hot breath against his jaw and the pressure of Blurry’s body against him, humming and hot and ultra-responsive. 

“N-Nicolas,” Tyler wheezes, his fingers grabbing at Blurry’s hand, his head airy, Christmas lights popping behind his eyes. This is dangerous. This is fatal now and he’s going to start losing consciousness. Then he’s going to die. 

Blurryface grins. “No,” he says, and releases Tyler’s throat only to punch it the second Tyler tries to take in air. 

 

* * *

 

They play this game every week. Tyler doesn’t know what the rules are, but he knows if he doesn’t follow them, he’s a dead man walking. 

“What’s my name?” Blurry whispers, hovering over Tyler in his (their) bunk, his knee between Tyler’s thigh. It’s too hot. Too tight. Too dark. 

“Blurry,” Tyler answers this week, because it feels as though that's right. Blurry says nothing, but claws his hand down over Tyler’s chest, his stomach, the bulge in his pants. Tyler shudders and shuts his eyes. 

Tyler swallows hard before he opens them again. “I feel like you’re just being a dick now,” he mutters, his lip pulled back in a sneer. 

Blurry smiles, quiet and serene, but it doesn’t meet his eyes. Sharp and glittering and bloody red, they pin Tyler in place in this postage stamp box of a bunk. He toys with the tie on Tyler’s pajama pants, twirling the ends around his own fingers. “Or I’m trying to make you _learn_ ,” he croons, walking his fingers back up Tyler’s body before he flicks him on the nose. Tyler sniffs, but keeps himself from rolling his eyes. “Who do I belong to? Who do _you_ belong to? You should already know the answer to anything I could possibly ask you. I’m trying to help you, you know. I’m trying to help you think. Think. _Think_ ,” Blurry hisses, jabbing Tyler in the head with his finger. “You don’t think or you think too much. I’m always somewhere in the silver. _Look for me_.” 

Tyler searches Blurry for a moment, trying to focus. He pushes forward in a murky sea of overcomplicated thought, his head aching from Blurry’s physical form making him work so much. Trying to focus on understanding Blurry and himself at the same time is exhausting, especially after a show. 

“I. . . I don’t know, God—it’s Nico. It’s Nico. You like that this week,” Tyler says, gritting his teeth and rubbing his forehead. “Just take it.” 

Blurry hums and puts his fingers inside Tyler’s mouth. He pushes them in deep, gagging Tyler as he hits the back of his throat. Saliva spills out of the cracks of Tyler’s mouth and his protest is muffled to silence. “How do you know what I like? I’m actually kinda hurt,” he says, mock-pouting as he presses his fingers against the roof of Tyler’s back, making Tyler gag harder and groan low in his throat. “I thought your magnum opus was claiming you conquered me, Tyler. Pretty, ah. . . pretty presumptuous, actually. You spent a lot of time on claiming I was an ugly cunt and an unholy demon banished by Christ just to separate yourself from me. I would’ve taken better to you telling me we should probably just see other people. Am I a joke to you? Do you really see me as less important? Less frightening? Not only are you a coward, a bitch, and a liar, but you’re a terrible partner. I’d hate to be married to you, too.” He pulls his fingers back out and Tyler spits up bile, coughing and hacking. 

Blurry leans down to kiss him, licking the sour, toxic spit off Tyler’s lips. Tyler feels sick. 

He pulls away with a nip to Tyler’s lip, cutting it open cleanly. He sighs and licks the beading blood from the cut before saying, “You know what it is, Tyler. You know who you want me to be.” 

 

* * *

 

Blurryface disappeared for a while before and then during the album production. Tyler saw and felt him during the filming for Jumpsuit as himself, but not in the spirit of what was supposed to be his humanization. It was his mirror looking down at him, filtered in between the rose petals. And it was brief. He didn’t speak. And Tyler didn’t see him again for a while. 

It wasn’t until the tour began in full swing that Blurry started spending every single night with Tyler, taking advantage of the fatigue that crushed him after the adrenaline left his body. The first night he came back, he shoved his tongue down Tyler’s throat, spat in his mouth, and jerked him off. 

“A welcome-home present,” Blurry said, stroking Tyler’s cock and sucking on the head, leaving Tyler helpless but to shake and whine, biting down hard on the side of his own hand. 

He didn't have time to think about the sanctity of marriage or anything like that. He didn't have time to feel guilty. It just. . . happened. Like always. He never says no, but he never says yes, either. It's impossible for him to tell anyone and have them sympathize when his entire situation is completely insane and impossible to believe anyway. 

He hasn't even told Josh. And he won't. He can't. Tyler tries to think about the concern and confusion and slight terror that would build behind Josh's eyes as he asked careful questions, trying to understand, but fearing for Tyler and jumping to conclusions, and Tyler can't handle that. 

Because the fact of the matter is, it isn't that bad. Tyler's not afraid of Blurry. He's afraid of himself for not having the strength to not take the bait dangling between his eyes. Blurry is just the tipping point between being so depressed your body is locked in lethargy and having just the right amount of energy left somewhere in your caffeine-addled brain to give you the boost to commit. Tyler is steady—steadier than he has been in his entire life, the lifeblood of touring pumping through him like he had a second heart made just for it, the utter joy of doing what he loves and being surrounded by people he loves swelling inside him—but Blurry materializing in his bed is foreboding. It means there's something lurking. It's stitching loose threads through Tyler's mind and, soon, fingers are going to pull them tight and he'll wind up with a brain clot.  

 

* * *

 

Maybe he should feel guilty, actually. Maybe he should feel a _lot_ guilty. 

There's a lot of steps someone has to take before intercourse. It's basically the last step in a novel-length list of mistakes a person can make before their life can take a sharp, unpleasant turn for the worst. Even disregarding the act itself, Tyler is going to experience head trauma just from trying to work out whether or not this counts as cheating. 

"I hope she knows," Blurry snarls in his ear, grabbing a fistful of Tyler's hair and pulling, yanking his head back. Tyler lets a sharp, harsh cry escape from his red, dripping mouth, his fingers scrambling at the bedsheets, his cock aching between his legs. Blurry laughs at him, humorless and out of breath, slamming back into him. 

"I hope she fucking knows," Blurry gasps out, his voice cut up and choppy as he moves. His fingernails are like spikes in Tyler's hip, the other hand twisted tight and fast around his hair. "I hope she knows how hard you like it. That you like getting fucked until—" He loses his voice when he buries himself inside Tyler, his claw of a hand digging hard into Tyler's thigh inside. Tyler is going to fall apart, his seams splitting. He can feel tears running down his face. "—until you don't remember your own name anymore. What's mine?" Blurry grinds against him, nails dragging down to raise red, angry lines over Tyler's skin. "What's mine?"

And Tyler can't breathe. He can't think. He doesn't have the ability to play the game and he's going to lose. Everything is instinct as he squeezes his hand around his leaking dick, his hips stuttering. " _Josh_ ," he moans, the only thing he can possibly think of, the tug on his scalp from Blurry's hand in his hair starting to burn. "Josh, _please_ —"

And Blurry snaps above him. It's with such an angry, sickening, animalistic growl that Tyler can't comprehend it coming from a vessel that has the same voice as him. Tyler comes hard enough that his picture shudders, sharp dead pixels of black and white flashing in screens in front of his vision along with the tacky hotel room wallpaper and the dim, yellow glow from the lamp that swallows up and casts shadow across his and Blurry's writhing twin bodies. The same stark, black ink stands out on their skin, beaded sweat rolling over each shape on their chests, arms, and thighs. 

Blurry pulls out too quickly and Tyler feels the dirty, unclean, messy feeling of cum leaking out of him. He still can't breathe and still can't think. Everything swims in a haze. 

Blurry exhales, loud and relaxed, rolling onto his side. He looks happy, happier than Tyler has ever seen him. He strokes Tyler's cheek, staring at him fondly. 

"You got it tonight," he murmurs, pressing his finger into Tyler's cheek. His thumbnail makes an incision in Tyler's skin when he shoves it in deeply enough. "I told you, I'm everything you want me to be. I always will be." 


End file.
